


Gifted Hockey Players AU

by UsiLabem



Category: Washington Capitals - Fandom
Genre: AU, Arizona Coyotes, Superpowers, Washington Capitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 17:22:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12730971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UsiLabem/pseuds/UsiLabem
Summary: An AU where all of the top athletes in the world have developed special gifts, enhanced abilities like speed and strength or other mutant-like skills. This is explored through your eyes, as a Washington Capitals fan. Also, Gary Bettman gets fired because fuck him this is my universe.





	1. Morning Skate

After a painfully slow negotiation across Key Bridge, you finally arrived at Ballston Common Mall. It was half past ten, so you'd already missed a fair amount of the practice, but coming to watch had been a spontaneous decision anyways. You grabbed a ticket at the parking lot entrance and drove up the spiral ramp leading to the roof. Something about the circular ramp always brought back a childish sense of glee. 

You pulled into a spot right by the front doors. It was a weekday, so there were plenty of spaces. Your evil plan was to come when most adults were at work and most kids at school. This meant burning one of your precious vacation days, but a day spent ogling the Caps was well worth the sacrifice. 

It was your first time back in DC since leaving for college five years earlier. Before that, you used to impatiently wait for parent-teacher conferences to spend a morning at Kettler and get your fix of hockey players. Things were different now. 

The biggest change was obviously what had happened across the league since the transformation occurred, but all that aside, the small changes were still significant. So many players had come and gone that the roster was barely recognizable. The young guns had given way to the bro-beans, and the lines were completely shuffled. Ovi didn't even play on the same line as Backstrom now!

It had been tough to keep up since moving away, so you were still learning to match faces, names, numbers and positions. You anxiously ran through the ones you could remember as you pulled on your now irrelevant Laich jersey and walked towards the entrance.

When you stepped indoors, the tonic of nostalgia swept away all uneasiness. Your feet carried you through the double doors, directly to the Caps practice rink. There they were, your childhood idols, the men and boys you'd followed religiously throughout your teenage years.

You surveyed the rink and quickly decided to grab a seat down the far end, where the offense was practicing. In the bleachers, there were a few kids with their parents and the stray couple or two, but it was a tame crowd. The skate was also very relaxed. The Caps were playing the Yotes that night, so most of the players were taking it easy. The D practiced slapshots while the offense worked on passing and one-timers. None of them were using their gifted skills. 

By eleven, everyone except the fifth line had hit the showers. Most of the fans also left then to go wait for autographs outside. You stayed to watch another 20 minutes. There was a lot more skating now since these guys wouldn't be playing tonight. 

You checked your phone to verify who was left. Numbers 79, 87 and 91. That was Nathan Walker, Liam O'Brien and Tyler Graovac. You didn't know if any of them had gifts. It took years of development to be able to tap into a gift, and the majority wound up not being incredibly useful for hockey anyways, so your expectations were low.

They practiced corner-work and protecting the puck along the boards with their bodies. The first time through, O'Brien played the forward and Walker the defensive player applying pressure. Then Walker cycled to the forward position and Graovac stepped in to be the defensive player. The size difference on this matchup was staggering. Walker seemed small for a hockey player, you were guessing slightly under 6", while Graovac easily stood 6" 8' on skates. Yet there was a spark to Walker, a paranormal nimbleness with which he evaded Graovac's jabs and pushes. It was tough to determine if that was the beginnings of a gift or whether the guys was just really that agile. 

That same debate surrounded Braden Holtby when gifts first started appearing. Some argued that he had simply seen a leap in dexterity while others argued that the gift had latched onto his natural abilities and amplified them. As more players evolved gifts and more attention was paid to them, people reached the general consensus that Holtby's increased deftness was likely a mix of both theories.

Gifts were still poorly understood, especially their origin. Some people wanted to credit the solar eclipse and spent hours plotting the location of gifted NHLers during the assorted stages of the eclipse. Others blamed the disastrous weather phenomenon; just a few days earlier, ball lightening had been spotted in New England following an unnamed storm that rode up the coast on the remnants of Tropical Storm Philippe. Others still accredited the gifts and disasters to a shared origin: disturbances to the earth's magnetic field caused by expansion of the molten core. Every theory had its vehement supporters and deniers. The fact remained that athletes all over the world were discovering that they had supernatural abilities. 

The first few months were utter chaos. The Olympic Committee hurried to draft legislature for the 2018 games. All across the US, there were talks of banning athletes who had gifts from competing in any professional league. 

In the NHL, owners were divided over whether athletes with gifts could be trusted to use them responsibly. There were weeks of back and forth debate over how one could identify a gift and separate it from pure, natural talent. Ultimately, the fans and player united to let gifts stay a part of the game. 

It helps that the leading opponent to a gift-inclusive game, asshat Gary Bettman, had his phone hacked and was fired amidst a massive corruption scandals. His official termination document was leaked and showed a lengthy list of reasons, including but not limited to:   
• Consciously encouraging racism in the hiring process  
• Blatantly perpetrating sexism and homophobia in the workplace  
• Accepting kickbacks in exchange for excluding athletes from the Olympics  
• Recklessly and wrongfully endangering player safety by withholding information on the harmful effects of CTEs   
• Negligently ignoring player complaints on the concussion protocol  
• And many, many, many more

The scandal had sucked in a lot of other big-name NHL admins, and the whole league was expected to undergo a massive overhaul during the offseason, but gifts were expected to stay. Not every player had them, but they added an extra level of magic to hockey. 

All of the top athletes, the Ovechkins and Holtbys of the world, developed gifts. Outside of hockey, that included other sports and activities like high level martial arts and dancers; any profession that required extreme athletic conditioning and mental discipline was affected. It caused a world-wide surge in gym memberships and exercise equipment sales as everyday people sought to discover a gift. There were new businesses and franchises popping out of the ground to sell TV shows and teach classes centered around finding your gift. You'd mostly ignored the trend, since any increase to your work-out regime always resulted in a corresponding jump in ice cream consumption :)

As the final players and coaches shuffled off the ice, you went to join the crowd outside. Apparently, Oshie and Wilson had already been by to sign autographs and take photos. As you waited for the next batch of freshly showered and fed Caps players, you read up a little on Walker.

He was famous for being the first Australian to sign an NHL contract. A little digging revealed that he was actually born in Wales, which perhaps accounted for his smallish stature. Then again, you thought, maybe not all Australians are as jacked as Chris Hemmsworth or Hugh Jackman. He wasn't drafted when he first became eligible in 2012 but in 2014 when the Caps European scout noticed him. He'd moved hemisphere to start playing for a Czech team when he was only 13 years old. He was fluent in Czech and Slovak, and he knew some Russian. The more you read, the more convinced you became that this kid was special. 

The extra years of development would explain why he could be showing signs before even cracking the gameday line-up. His scouting report focused on his high-energy play style and speed. It all fit nicely with your gift theory, but only time would tell.

The people around you suddenly perked up. Someone was leaving the rink. You let the little kids go in front of you as they swarmed round John Carlson. He patiently signed every shirt and puck shoved his direction, including your own jersey. He then stood and smiled for half a dozen photos before wishing everyone well and escaping to his car.

The pattern repeated for Lars Eller, Brooks Orpik, and Jay Beagle. You hung back, letting the kids muck about and enjoy themselves, but when Dmitry Orlov showed his face, you rushed to get a signature. You thanked him and fought your way back out of the crowd. You took a breath of freedom.

Out of the corner of your eye however, you caught a glimpse of someone sneaking out the side door of the rink. You focused on the individual, but the details of his face seemed to blur. No matter how hard you tried to figure out the color of his shirt, you couldn't tell; it seemed to change from red to blue to black and then white. His hair was rustling in the wind even though it was a calm day. His right hand was in a bright blue cast.

Your eyed widened. 

"Andre?" you called out.

The figure stopped and turned to face you. His features now clearly defined, your suspicions were confirmed. Standing there, staring at you, was Andre Burakovsky.

Your mouth hung open for a few seconds like a rubber chicken that had just been stepped on before you regained your senses.

"Um, may I please have a picture?" you asked.

"Sure," he said with a smile. He seemed awfully cheerful for someone who had been caught trying to sneak out without fan interaction.

You looked around for someone to take the photo. Andre Burakovsky was too special for a selfie. You asked one of the moms whose kid was crowding Orlov. She agreed and you handed over your phone.

You slid into place next to Andre, your arm hovering awkwardly behind the curve of his lower back, unsure whether to touch him or not. His arm brushed against your back, and his cast-covered hand rested on your shoulder. 

After the picture, you wanted to ask Andre dozens of questions. How was his broken thumb healing up? How did his gift really work? Was he aware that his Twitter likes were public and everyone could see when he liked photos of hot, half-naked girls?

You refrained from that embarrassment and just thanked him a few times, but the lady who took your picture swept in with his own kids and trapped him. 

"Sorry," you mouthed from behind the steadily forming sea of children.

He shrugged and smiled at you before turning his attention to the markers and merchandise being presented to him by proud elementary schoolers. 

He made it out relatively fast, and the number of fans dwindled as the younger kids lost patience or were dragged off by parents. You glanced over at the remaining parked cars. There was an art form to spotting which ones were likely owned by NHLers. Some were obvious, like the impractical sports cars. Others took more attention like the shiny black Volvo that looked abnormally clean or the Mercedes SUV that was parked in the prime spot by the players' entrance.

The coach, Barry Trotz, came out and signed a few things before taking off in the Mercedes. 

You opted to wait a while longer, making small talk with the other persistent fans. Some were regulars and could tell you who normally came out to greet fans rather than sneak out the lower exit. Top of the list was Braden Holtby, and true to his reputation, we came striding out a few minutes later.

"Gimme a sec to put this stuff in my car," he said, gesturing to the Tupperware containers full of food that he was carrying. "I'll be right back." 

He walked over to the shiny Volvo and dumped his stuff in the back before coming over and going through the autograph/photograph ritual. You had the mom from before take another picture for you. Again, you squashed your inner curiosity and gave Holtby a polite "thank you" instead of inundating him with questions.

"Is there anyone coming?" a small child asked.

"Sorry guys, I'm the last one today," was Holtby's sincere response.

Content with this answer, everyone disbanded.

You took a few minutes to tweet the photos you'd gotten, tagging the players in them and putting another thank you in the text. By this point, it was half past one and you were starving. You were meeting some friends from high school before the game tonight to grab dinner, so a light lunch would suffice to stave off the hunger until then. You could wait and tell them about this little adventure in person, or you could send some barely comprehensible texts squealing about how you caught Andre Burakovsky using his gift to try and escape a crowd of fans. You opted for the latter.

You: Guys, I got a picture with Andre! He just like blurred his face. I don't know how it works, but I couldn't recognize his face. Super freaky awesome

Friend 1: Whaaaat that's amazing!!!!!!!

Friend 2: Oh my goddddddddd. How'd you know if was him??

You: He didn't do his hands, and I saw the cast. Just figured it had to be him

Friend 1: Nice :P 

Friend 1: Did you get to talk to him at all?

You: No, he got swarmed with kiddies after I stopped him for a picture. Feel kinda bad about that

Friend 2: I'm sure he gets that all the time.

You: Yeah but he was trying to get out without being noticed

Friend 1: And you caught him! Next time, he can park on a lower level or be better at blurring :)

Friend 2: Exactly. It's good practice for him and super cool that you spotted it

Friend 2: That trick works against professionals and you didn't fall for it! C'mon, that's brill!

You: Haha, I guess I'm just that obsessed with him

Friend 1: Aren't we all <3


	2. Game Time

Six'o'clock rolled around and you and Friend 1 were the first people in line at the Gallery Place entrance to the Verizon Center. Sorry, Capital One Arena. The name change still felt weird. Like the Phoenix Coyotes becoming the Arizona Coyotes. It sounded wrong, but you knew you'd be used to it in a couple months. Also, while Verizon made sense given its red logo, Capital One made more sense because it literally had the word Capital in it. Nevertheless, it would take some time to remember.

Once inside, you danced over to the entrance to section 111/112. You were determined to get the best viewing spot, right behind the blue line. That's where Ovi did his stretching, and it had a magnificent view of both the neutral zone and the net. 

You and Friend 1 put up signs to claim the space. It felt childish to bring a poster to the game, especially one as dull as Let's Go Caps, but you couldn't think of anything original. Usually, you'd put something eye-catching by writing in a European language. There were Caps players from Russian, Sweden, Czechia and Germany, but you hadn't had any time to research fun phrases in any of these languages.

You had about 20 minutes until the players came out for warm-ups, so you reviewed the players' names and numbers with Friend 1. It didn't help much once warm-ups started, since you barely caught a glance of the players' jerseys as they skated past.

"Oh my god, that's Kuznetsov," you squealed. "And there's Backstrom and Vrana." You turned to your friend, jumping up and down with unrestrained excitement.

"Do you think they'll use their gifts during warm ups?" Friend 1 asked.

"Probably not. Too tiring" you replied, turning back to the glass. 

You were transfixed. Ovi did his usual stretches. Holtby did his strange half-worm stretch that looks like some odd b-boy dance move. Beagle did some sprints in the neutral zone. Wilson and Oshie did their ritual. Everything happened so fast that your head was still spinning when the Zambonis hit the ice and your friends dragged you over to the seats.

You'd splurged and bought seats in the lower section. Your other friend was sitting with her family in the middle section, and some college friends of yours were seated way back in the nosebleeds, but no one else had lined up early to watch the warm ups.

You and Friend 1 dumped your posters at the seats and went to walk around the lower level. You guys caught up on the past few years of news, talking about Friend 1's boyfriend and your job. It was relieving how no face-to-face contact over the past five years hadn't tarnished your friendship. Conversation still flowed naturally, and your shared sense of humor kept the mood light.

You were back in your seats by seven, ready for puck drop. You cheered as the players made their way back onto the ice, and the announcer called out the starting line-up. It was the third line to begin, Vrana-Eller-Wilson, with Djoos and Carlson paired together on defense and Holtby in net. You stood for the anthem, and then it was finally game time.

Things started badly… really badly. Arizona scored on their first shot of the game, one minute into play. Five minutes later, on their second shot of the game, they scored again. All eyes were on Holtby, although the blame was shared among all Caps players on the ice. Holtby kept his calm demeanor and did his classic water bottle eye-exercises while the ice crew cleared up the shavings.

You rubbed your forearms nervously. Arizona had the worst record in the league, 2-12-1. They lost their first eleven games. Still, you faith in the Caps was unwavering. They just needed to buckle down and focus.

And that they did. The Caps peppered Arizona's goalie with shots. At 8:41 into the campaign, Devante-Smith-Pelly sent a blind backhand towards the net and it FUCKING WENT IN. The building erupted into relieved cheers. The Caps were back in the game. At the end of the first, the Yotes still led 2-1, but that Caps had mustered 13 shots on net to their 6.

The second period started off with a quick penalty called on one of the Yotes for Slashing against John Carlson.

"That looks like it hurt," you said to Friend 1. 

"Nah, he's gifted," she shrugged.

"Wait, really? I didn't know about his! What is it?"

"Yeah, he only talked about it recently. It's not super flashy or anything like the forwards have got. It's called hardening."

"Hardening?"

"Get your mind out of the gutter, you. Basically, his skin gets tougher so it doesn't hurt if he blocks shots or gets slashed. He did a Post interview on it."

"No way, that's awesome" 

"Yeah, so now the powerplay has four gifted players. Poor Oshie still hasn't unlocked his, but I bet it'll come out if he ever gets to do a shoot-out again."

"True true." You let the conversation trail off as the power-play started up, but the Caps couldn't get set up in the offensive zone and squandered the man-advantage.

Fortunately, Arizona's lack of discipline meant that the Caps had another opportunity acouple minutes later. As the Yote made his way to the box, the Caps set up for the faceoff. Their power-play umbrella hadn't changed much since it was one of the best in the league. Having so many gifted players just made it better.

Carlson directed things from the point. Ovi and Backstrom took the middle edges by the two faceoff dots. Oshie stayed low on Ovi's side and Kuznetsov played low on Backstom's side. 

Everyone let out a grumble as the Yotes won the faceoff and sent the puck down the ice. The Caps regrouped in their own zone, Holtby leaving the puck behind the net for Carlson to pick up. Nicky collected an outlet pass from Carlson and gave the puck to Kuznetsov in the neutral zone. Kuznetsov skated towards the offensive zone at speed, choosing a path near the boards. 

"Is he gonna do it?" you whispered with baited breath.

As a Yotes player made a cut towards Kutnetzov, he sauced the puck towards empty space in the center of the ice. A split second later, Kuznetsov appeared in that space to catch his own pass.

"HE DID THE THING. OH MY GAWD, HE DID THE THING!" you yelled.

You weren't the only one screaming your head off. Kutnetsov's gift was flashier than the high beams on a Maserati that had been painted gold. It had the subtlety of being run over by a fire hydrant red semi-truck, but it was so cool. It made offsides a total bitch, but it was brilliant when it worked, and this time, it worked.

The Yotes players scattered to cover Kuznetsov, leaving Oshie open for a flat pass. Oshie shot the puck, and Arizona's goalie made a beautiful save. After the whistle, the crowd exploded into applause as the jumbotron replayed Kuznetsov's teleportation.

The Caps ultimately didn't score on that powerplay, but this time, they only had to wait three minutes for another powerplay chance. Arizona really couldn't stay out of the box. Fortunately for them, the heart of the powerplay, the Ovi-Kuznetsov-Smith Pelly line, was near the end of their shift when the penalty was called, so the Caps started with their second power play unit. 

They had little success and swapped out quickly for the main unit. Oshie got the puck into the zone this time and sent it back to Carlson, who got it to Backstrom. Backstrom had always set the pace when playing hockey, slowing the game down or speeding it up to his liking, but now, with his gift, he could literally slow things down. Anyone within a 30 foot radius would suddenly feel like the outside world was moving in double time. People in the VIP seats by the glass were known to also get sucked into the time bubble, but you were safe back in row J.

From your seats, you saw Backstom expertly navigating through four slo-mo Yotes and launching a pass to the ready Ovechkin. Ovechkin blasted a one-timer at the goalie, who made yet another save (his 17th of the night according to the box score), and the Yotes players snapped back into reality. 

As everyone applauded Backstrom, a scuffle broke out it from of the net. Kuznetsov cross-checked a disagreeable Yotes player, who fell onto the goalie, and chaos ensured. After the goalie had regained his bearing and had a chat with the trainer, play resumed. Kuznetsov was in the box, and play was 4 on 4 for five seconds.

The Caps wisely opted to just send the penalty killers out. The PK, with support from Holtby, prevented any scoring chances. Holtby was up to 10 saves now and looking in good condition. With three seconds left in the penalty kill, a Yote got sent to the box for slashing Eller, and the Caps went on the powerplay for the fourth time that game.

Backstrom won the faceoff back to Carlson, and everyone set up in the designated space. Carlson gave the puck back to Backstrom, who was being given a generous amount of space from the wary Yotes penalty killers. Backstrom cycled the puck with Kuznetsov and headed low, leaving Kuzy with and open lane to reach Carlson. Kuzy fired off a pass. Carlson faked a shot and passed to Ovechkin, who finally found the back of the net with a rocket of a one-timer.

The arena exploded with cheers as the goal siren rung out loud and clear. The Yotes player in the penalty box skated shamefully back towards his bench as the Caps skated down their own bench giving fist bumps. The box remained empty for the rest of the period (but not for a lack of penalties).

Tom Wilson expressed his dissatisfaction with a hit that one of the Yotes laid on teammate Chandler Stephenson by starting a scuffle that led to a proper fight. It began, in typical hockey fashion, with a jersey-grabbing contest, and ended abruptly when Wilson got his right hand free and started repeatedly punching the Yotes player, Schenn, in the face. At that point, the refs jumped in the break things up.

"Wilson looks really done with this shit," you laugh as both players are assessed 5 minute fighting penalties and escorted off the ice.

"I think he's fought the Schenn brothers before," Friend 1 replied, grinning.

"Yeah, didn't one of them play for the Flyers? Or was it the Kings? Someone horrible, that's all I remember."

After that, the period wrapped up in a relatively tame fashion. The Caps had 26 shots compared to the Coyotes 18. For the first time all season, you were relieved that you didn't get Holtby on your fantasy team. You'd actually been extremely lucky to end up with a great goaltending tandem in Bobrovsky and Vasilevskiy instead of your top contender, Carey Price, who'd spent a large part of the season injured. Price had become even more desirable since his gift manifested himself. He'd been nicknamed Medusa for his ability to temporarily freeze a player just by looking at him. It made him unbeatable in shoot-outs.

During the second intermission, you lined up for overpriced popcorn and pizza and met up with your college friends. You shamelessly retold your Andre Burakovsky story from that afternoon complete with pictures, and you made plans to meet for breakfast tomorrow.

The third period was a scoreless affair with Yotes and Caps players taking turns in the penalty box. Holtby made some astounding saves near the end of the period to keep the Caps in it. The crowd cheered as the Holbeast animation flashed on the screen. Holtby had had that moniker well before getting his superhuman reflexes, but his gift further cemented the nickname. 

Tensions were high going into overtime; the three on three format guaranteed that. All that unoccupied space made Kuznetsov an easy choice. He went out with Oshie and Carlson. Fans held their breath as the trio charged down the ice and set up a fast-moving cycle in the offensive zone. Carslon broke free of the cycle by launching a fast shot just high and wide of the net.

The puck deflected off the boards and was promptly collected by a Yotes player. Kuznetsov flickered and reappeared next to the player, leading to a takeaway. Carlson collected the puck behind the net and handed it off to Backstrom, who had come on the ice with Ovi to replace Oshie and Kuznetsov. Orlov hopped the boards as Carlson jumped off. 

Ready to relaunch the attack, the Caps progressed up the ice steadily, taking advantage of all the open space. Backstrom carried the puck into the zone and then out again when he didn't have a passing lane. He handed it off the Ovechkin, who forced his way into the offensive zone and blasted a shot that the Yotes goalie saved.

Backstrom slowed the two players near him but wasn't close enough to the puck to entirely prevent the counterattack. A daring Yotes player collected the puck and positively flew up the ice, getting several steps on Orlov and making a clean breakaway. The kid was too fast to be normal, so he must have had a gift for speed. That would make him the ideal foil for Backstrom, so the matchup must have been intentional.

The arena was deadly silent as the Yotes player broke into the Caps offensive zone and ripped a wristshot on net. Holtby shot out his glove and effortlessly snagged the puck. The audience roared with appreciation. 

The Caps tried a few other line combinations, but settled back on Kuznetsov, Oshie and Carlson again for the final shift of OT. The clock counted down the final minute of the period when the Caps seized control again. Kuznetsoz gathered the puck behind the Yotes net and sent himself a pass off the boards, teleporting to the other side of rink to redirect the pass to Oshie. Oshie gather the puck and sent it to a waiting Carslon, who let his shot fly. That puck saw nothing but net, and the game was over.

The Caps got a standing ovation for that win, and the goal siren blared over the crowd's applause. You let out a few joyful yells before sinking back down into your seat.

"You okay?" Friend 1 asked, worry-lines visible on her face.

You smile back. "Yep. I mean, I'll probably die from hockey-induced stress, but God, this sport just keeps getting better and better."


End file.
